Frank Merriwell's Return to Yale

THE DUEL.

"Are you ready, gentlemen?"

The sun was just peeping over the horizon.

Beyond the city limits, near a strip of timber far down the Sound, five persons had met.

Two of them were Frank Merriwell and Robert Marline, who were to fight a deadly duel there that beautiful morning.

Two more were their seconds, Jack Diamond and Sport Harris.

The fifth was a young collegian named Morton, who was studying medicine and surgery. He had brought along a case of instruments, although he was not certain this was to be a duel in deadly earnest.

Merriwell and Marline, despite the fact that the morning air was keen and cold, had stripped off their coats and vests and were in their shirt sleeves.

Now they stood facing each other, weapons in hand.

Frank's face was calm and confident, as if he had not the least doubt concerning the outcome of the affair. His nerves were under admirable control. He was a trifle paler than usual.

Marline, on the other hand, was flushed and nervous. He had taken several drinks of whiskey to brace him, and Merriwell's calm confidence was something he could not understand. At that moment, Frank seemed like the duelist and Marline like the novice.

The sun shot a single lance of light across the world, and then Diamond, who had been chosen to give the signal, spoke the word that set the rivals at each other.

Clash! clash! clash! The bright blades clanged sharply on the morning air. The sunshine glittered coldly on their polished lengths.

At first the work was of a very scientific order, for each man seemed feeling of the other to discover just how much skill he possessed.

Marline was more than ever astonished, for he had scarcely fancied Frank could be an expert with such a weapon. Now, however, he saw by the manner in which Frank handled himself, by his every move, that he was a skillful swordsman.

The boy from the South attempted to force the fighting. The whiskey went to his head, and he fought savagely, his teeth set and his eyes gleaming. Deadly determination was in his every move. The seconds and the surgeon watched breathlessly.

Suddenly there was a cry. By a twisting movement of his wrist, Frank had disarmed his enemy, sending Marline's blade spinning into the air.

The sword fell with a clang on the frozen ground at Rob's feet, and he instantly snatched it up. Then he came at Frank with the fury of one driven mad.

Merriwell was forced to give ground before the fierce onslaught of his enemy. He knew well enough that Marline was exceedingly dangerous, for he had flung discretion to the winds and was exposing himself in all ways by his fierce desire to get at Frank.

Merriwell did not wish to wound Marline, but hoped to humble him. However, it began to look as if Frank would be forced to do his best in self-defense.

He had remarkable control of himself, and watched his chance. It came in a short time, and again he twisted the sword from Marline's hand.

Marline fell back before Merriwell's half-lifted sword.

"Kill me!" he passionately cried. "Kill me now, or I'll kill you!"

Merriwell lowered his blade.

In a moment Marline sprang to the spot where his sword had fallen, caught it up, and turned on Frank again.

"On guard!" he shouted.

Like a whirlwind, he came at Merriwell.

Clash! clash! clash! It was a terrific battle now. The young surgeon was excited and frightened.

"It must be stopped!" he cried. "Marline is determined to kill him! We must stop it!"

Snap!—Frank Merriwell's blade broke within a foot of the hilt!

With a hoarse shout of victorious fury, Marline thrust straight at Frank's breast!

Merriwell succeeded in foiling the thrust with the part of his weapon that remained in his hand, but Marline's sword passed through Frank's shirt sleeve at the shoulder.

The seconds and the surgeon had started forward to interfere, but, with a gasping curse, Marline flung his sword on the ground and covered his eyes with his hands, his whole body quivering.

Diamond caught up the weapon the Southerner had flung down, muttering:

"There's no telling what he may try to do next. I'll keep this out of his reach."

But Marline had no thought of resuming the duel. When he lowered his hand from his face, his shame was betrayed.

"Mr. Merriwell," he said, his voice quivering, "I wish to apologize to you."

All were astonished.

"For what?" asked Frank, calmly.

"You have shown yourself more honorable than I," said Marline, although every word cut him like the stroke of a knife. "Twice you disarmed me and took no advantage of it. But when my turn came, my hatred for you was so great I lost my head. I tried to kill you. I offer a humble apology, and say what I never expected to say to any living being—you have shown yourself more honorable than I."

That was enough to touch Frank, and all the past was forgotten in a moment. With an impulse of generosity, he held out his hand.

"Take it!" he cried. "Let's call the past buried."

Marline shook his head.

"I can't!" he exclaimed. "I can't be a hypocrite. You have shown yourself the more honorable, Merriwell, but I hate you still. I shall try to forget it, but, with my disposition, it will not be easy. If I conquer myself, some day, perhaps, I'll accept your hand—if you care to offer it then."

"When the time comes," said Frank, "my hand will be open to you."

Then the dueling party broke up.

When Frank reached his room, he found a letter from Inza awaiting him. This is what he read:

"Dear Frank: I have been a foolish girl, and I am ashamed. I can't say more this way, but will explain everything when I see you. Please come to me. Come as soon as possible.

"Inza."

Frank's heart gave a great bound as he read this communication. He could not go to see Inza at once, but he sent word that he would call that evening.

When he arrived, he found Inza awaiting him alone, the girl's aunt having wisely withdrawn.

"Oh, Frank—I—I——" she began, and then she could not go on, for he caught her in his arms and gave her a tight squeeze.

"Don't let's talk about it," he said, cheerily. "I guess it was all a mistake."

"I had no right to bind you down, Frank," said Inza, softly. "It has been a lesson to me. You know what is best, always, and after this you shall have your own way in everything."

"Are you quite sure of that?" he said, softly, looking into her clear eyes, which immediately dropped. "Then, I'm going to have my way now."

And a kiss followed, which seemed to be a complete forgiveness all around.

Then she told him of Marline, and he understood something of what had led to the duel.

But he did not tell Inza of that terrible encounter, and the girl did not learn of it until some time later.

A STUDENTS' CONFAB.

The days passed, and Frank turned again to his studies. He was anxious to prove to the professors that he could learn his lessons, as well as play football.

To be sure, he did not give up his sports entirely, nor his recreation at the gym.

As the days slipped by, many of the students became more or less interested in a big, burly freshman, who went by the name of Hock Mason.

Mason had proved himself a regular bruiser on more than one occasion, and he was such a thoroughly "bad man," that some of the boys grew afraid of him.

One night there was a crowd gathered in Frank's room, and it was not long before the conversation turned upon the "bad man," who was hardly known to our hero.

"He's a terror!"

It was plain Halliday thought so. The manner in which he uttered the words showed that he was fully satisfied on that point.

"Is he scientific?" asked Merriwell.

"No; but he is a bulldog," answered Halliday.

"And a brute!" exclaimed Harry Rattleton.

"That's right," nodded Danny Griswold. "Look at my eye. I hadn't an idea that he thought of hitting me till he let me have it. Knocked me flat. Felt as if I'd been kicked by a mule."

"What did you do to cause him to strike you?" asked Frank.

"Nothing. Just looked at him."

"If he keeps this up," grunted Bruce Browning, who was stretched on the couch, puffing away at a cigarette, "his career at Yale will be short."

"That's right!" cried Jack Diamond, showing his teeth. "Some one will kill him. If he struck me, I'd shoot him in a minute—in a minute!"

Diamond meant it. There was hot blood in his veins. Frank's example had taught him to control his fiery temper to a certain extent, but there were times when it would blaze forth and get the best of him for all of anything he could do.

"It's a pity some fellow can't get at him and lick the stuffing out of him," said Bandy Robinson. "That's what he needs."

"Well, who is there that can do it?" cried Griswold. "He's a perfect giant, over six feet tall, and must weigh nearly two hundred pounds, though there's not an ounce of fat on him. He's all bone and muscle. He strikes a regular prize-fighter blow, and he can't be hurt. I tell you, he is a good man to let alone."

"That's right," agreed Halliday. "I saw him do up those coppers the other night, four of them, and they all had their clubs out."

"Did they hit him?" asked Merriwell.

"Hit him! Well, I should guess yes. They cracked him eight or ten times over the head and shoulders."

"Somebody said it didn't have any effect on him," observed "Uncle" Blossom, who was chewing gum as if his life depended on it.

"Not a bit more than it would if they had hammered a block of wood," declared Halliday. "It made me sick the first time they cracked him on the head, and it sounded exactly as if they struck a piece of hard wood. I expected it would lay him out stiff."

"But he kept on his feet?"

"He never staggered! Cut his scalp open in three places, and he bled frightfully, but that only seemed to make him worse."

"Very interesting," commented Frank, his eyes sparkling. "It would be an honor to subdue such a fellow as that."

"Honor?" cried Halliday and Griswold. "It would be a miracle!"

"If he lives, he'll become a prize fighter," said Blossom. "He has their brutal instincts, and still he seems to have some brains."

"That's what makes him such a bad man—his brains," cried Halliday. "He fights with his head, as well as with his hands."

"I must say, you interest me greatly in this freshman," said Merriwell. "What did you call his name—Mason?"

"Yes, Hock Mason. You've seen him. He's that big, red-headed bruiser, who——"

"Yes, I've seen him," nodded Frank. "I know him by sight."

"It's a wonder he hasn't jumped on you yet. You must have attracted his notice, for you are the most popular man in college."

"Oh, he'll get at Merry in time," grinned Griswold. "All he is waiting for is the opportunity."

Frank laughed.

"I don't know as I care about having any trouble with this freshman bully," he confessed.

"I should say not!" cried the others.

"But I shall not run to get out of his way."

"You'd better."

"Perhaps some of you are aware that I can put up a good, stiff fight myself."

"Yes, but you can't lick a fellow you can't hurt."

"There is no man living that can't be hurt—if you find out his tender spot. If I were forced into trouble with this Hock Mason, I should try to find how I could hurt him."

"While you were finding it, Merry, he would kill you."

Frank laughed again, showing not the least annoyance.

"You think so, and you may be right. As I said before, I don't know as I care to have any trouble with him; but, at the same time, I am not going to run away from him. I never saw a genuine bully yet that was not a squealer when he knew he had met his master, and I'll wager something Mr. Hock Mason can be cowed, for all of his famous fight with the policemen."

"If you'd seen that fight, you might have a different opinion," put in Halliday. "All he had was his bare fists, and he knocked those four cops out. Why, when he struck one of them fairly, the man went down like a stricken ox, and lay quivering on the ground. He knocked out two of them, and then he grabbed the others by the collars. Both let him have it with their clubs, but he just thumped their heads together and dropped them. They were knocked out, and I wondered if their heads were cracked. That made him a king among the freshmen. They're so scared of him that they shiver when he looks at them. I don't believe there is a freshman who likes him, but they pretend to, and they got him to his room after the fight, washed him up, plastered up his head, and then went forth and swore they knew nothing about the affair. The cops couldn't spot their man when they tried, for Mason came out the next morning looking as if nothing had happened. He wears his hair long, and he's had it clipped away around the wounds on his head, plastered the cuts up, and then combed his hair over the plasters. I tell you, he is a bad man!"

"Every bad man meets his match some day," said Frank.

"Mason's match is not to be found in Yale."

"Perhaps not."

"He's bound to be cock of the walk."

"And are freshmen, sophomores, juniors and seniors going to allow this brutal bully to walk on their necks?"

"What else can they do?"

"Kill him!" cried Jack Diamond, fiercely—"kill him, by the eternal gods! He can't walk on my neck! If he tried it, I'd kill him, though I hung for it!"

"I don't think it is necessary to kill him," smiled Frank. "There's always some way of subduing a bully. That way must be discovered, and he must be subdued."

"We'll owe you a vote of thanks if you discover it and do the job," said Griswold.

"Well, you are liable to owe Merriwell a vote of thanks, then," grunted Browning. "I've traveled all over with him, and I never saw him take water for anything that stood on legs. There are a few bad men out West, but they didn't faze him."

"Merry is all right," said Halliday. "He's a corker, and athlete, and is built of pure sand, but he'd have to be built of iron to go up against a big ruffian like this Mason. About the only way to subdue that fellow is to kill him, as Diamond suggests."

"He is growing more and more insolent and aggressive every day," said Griswold. "If something isn't done to check him, he and his crowd of followers will run over us. They are all getting insolent, and we have received notice that they'll appear in a body to-night with tall hats and canes. Mason will lead them, and they don't think we'll dare tackle them."

"We'll rush them, if we're killed!" cried Diamond, springing to his feet and wildly pacing up and down the floor. "Are you in it, fellows? Hark—what's that? They're out now! They're singing! It's a challenge! Oh, there'll be a hot time around here to-night!"

DIAMOND STRIKES A BLOW.

Forty freshmen, with tall hats and canes, commanded by the giant, Hock Mason, were singing, "That Bully." In the most belligerent manner possible, they shouted the line:

Behind them were more freshmen without silk hats and canes, but prepared to take a hand in the scrimmage, if the juniors tried a rush.

The freshmen had grown bold and saucy. Hock Mason bullied them, and they were afraid of him, but they knew the juniors were afraid of him, too.

They sang and shouted. They marched up and down with Mason leading. They began to express their fears that the juniors would not dare try a rush.

The juniors saw the freshmen were out in force, and they were not hasty about making an assault. They seemed to lack a leader. They kept gathering, but held aloof.

The freshmen grew bolder and bolder. They invaded the campus. The juniors were gathered at their fence. It was plain the freshmen meant to rush them, and attempt to take the fence. The juniors prepared to struggle to the bitter end.

On came the freshmen. The others were outnumbered. It looked as if many of them were afraid, and were keeping out of the mêlée that must come.

The freshmen marched past the line along the fence. They were insulting. They turned and marched back. Then, at a signal from their giant leader, they attempted to sweep the juniors from the fence, and take it by storm.

There was a charge, a clash, and the battle was on.

But it afterward developed that the juniors were far more crafty than the freshmen thought. They had not concentrated their entire force at the fence, but their main body were keeping out of sight and waiting for the onset to begin, knowing the freshmen were in a mood to try something desperate and unusual.

The moment the freshmen made a rush for the fence, the second body of their antagonists came with a wild charge.

Frank Merriwell led them!

In a moment such a battle was taking place there at the fence as had not been witnessed since the old days at Yale—the good old fighting days.

Almost immediately the freshmen were on the defensive, doing their best to retain their hats and canes.

Frank singled out Hock Mason, believing the best course was to engage his entire attention without delay. He was urging the freshmen on, and no one seemed to stand before him.

With all the nerve he could command, putting all his strength and skill into the effort, Merriwell went at Mason. He came upon the fellow like a tornado.

Frank did not try slugging tactics, but he caught Mason's cane with both hands, and, giving it a twist and a whirl, snapped the big freshman into the air and fairly flung him over his shoulder, tearing away the cane.

It is possible that never before in all his life had Hock Mason been handled in such a summary manner. He struck the ground with a thump, bewildered beyond measure by what had happened, for he had not dreamed any man at Yale could handle him that way, even if he were taken by surprise.

But Mason was not hurt in the least, and he was furious.

Laughing triumphantly, Frank Merriwell spun the cane into the air and caught it with the skill of a baton-thrower when it came down.

Roaring like an enraged lion, Hock Mason scrambled to his feet. Somebody gave Merriwell a push from behind, nearly throwing him down, and Mason struck him behind the ear.

It was one of the giant freshman's sledge-hammer blows, and Frank dropped like a log.

"Cuss ye!" snarled the bully. "I'll fix ye!"

The brute in his nature was aroused, and he kicked the fallen lad in the ribs with his toe.

"Shame! shame!" cried a score of voices.

Bruce Browning, with a roar of rage, tried to reach the brutal fellow, but Jack Diamond was quicker.

Jack had torn a heavy cane from a freshman, and now he wielded it, butt foremost, with all the strength he could command.

Whack!

The blow might have been heard anywhere on the campus. It fell just where the furious Virginian had intended it should—across the side of Mason's head and behind his ear!

The fellow who had stood on his feet before the blows of the policemen's clubs now fell as if he had been shot, pitching headlong over Frank Merriwell.

Frank sat up, still grasping the cane he had captured from the bully. Jack caught his hand and pulled him to his feet.

Hock Mason lay at full length on the ground, gasping for breath.

"He's dying!" cried somebody, horrified.

The rush was over, freshmen and juniors stopped struggling in a moment, and all gathered around the spot where the giant lay. His heavy rasping breathing was terrifying.

"He is dying, Diamond!" whispered Browning, in Jack's ear.

"I don't care!" returned the Virginian, passionately.

"But think—think what that means!"

"I don't care!" repeated Jack. "He struck Frank—kicked him when he was down! You know, Browning—you know how Merriwell stood by me on our trip when all the rest of you turned against me, because I was out of sorts. You know how he stood by me when I raved at him. Another fellow would have told me to go to the Old Nick. I haven't forgotten those things. I am ready to do anything for him!"

"But if it should happen that you have killed this freshman——"

"What then?"

"It will go hard with you. A little while ago, in Merriwell's room, you were saying you would kill him. It will look like a premeditated murder."

This hit Jack hard, but it did not stagger him.

"I can't help it. I did the trick to keep him from killing Merriwell. Merry was down, and that brute was kicking him. No one would dare try to stop Mason with bare hands. I used the best and only means to stop him. If he dies——Well, I'll take my chance with a jury of honest men."

Browning felt that Diamond had nerve, for all that he was hot-headed and passionate.

"Well, we'll hope the fellow isn't hurt much."

Some one was bending over Mason, fanning him, while others were pushing the crowd back.

"Get back—give him air! Do you want to smother him to death?"

"Smother time, perhaps," chirped Danny Griswold, who could not hold back the pun, for all of the gravity of the situation.

The rush had begun and ended so quickly that the faculty did not seem to be aroused. Some of the students were watching for the expected appearance of the professors, however.

Water was brought, and Mason's temples were bathed. He continued to breathe hoarsely for some time, plainly drawing his breath with the utmost difficulty, but the sound gradually lessened, and he finally struggled to sit up.

"What's the matter? What's the matter?" he growled, harshly. "Let me alone! Let me get up!"

Some one offered to help him.

"Get out!" he snarled, flinging the fellow off. "What do I want of help? What's the matter with my head? It is whirling."

He got up, although it was with the utmost difficulty he could do so, and there he stood in the midst of the crowd, swaying and putting his hands to his head.

Some could not believe their eyes. They had not thought it possible Hock Mason could betray weakness.

"Somebody struck me!" he harshly grated, glaring around. "Where is he? I'll wring his neck as if he were a chicken! Where is the fellow?"

All were silent.

"Oh, I'll find out who it is," declared the bully, "and when I do, I'll make him weep tears of blood. I'll make him wish he never had been born. I'll——What's the matter with my head? It's going around—around—around——"

He would have fallen, but some of the freshmen caught hold of him, and he was led from the campus toward his room.

FACING THE BULLY.

The events of that night created a sensation, forming a topic of general conversation.

Strangely enough, very few seemed to know who had struck Mason, and those who did, kept silent, not wishing to be drawn into the affair, being friendly toward Diamond.

Jack was not at all excited or alarmed over it, and he did not show concern when he was told over and over that the giant freshman would be sure to make good his threat, if possible.

"Let him try it!" said the lad from Virginia. "Next time I will finish him. I do not propose to fool with a beast like him."

From the campus a party of students went direct to Frank's room. Frank had the cane he had taken from Mason.

"It will make a fine ornament for my room," he laughed, as he placed it conspicuously over the mantel.

"Jove!" cried Danny Griswold. "You should be proud of it. You took it from Mason so quick that the fellow was dazed."

"That was the flittiest pring I ever saw—I mean the prettiest fling I ever saw," excitedly declared Rattleton. "How did you do it, Merry?"

"Oh, that was a simple trick," smiled Frank.

"It would have bumped the wind out of any other fellow, but it didn't seem to damage Mason much," observed Charlie Creighton.

"It was Diamond's little rap that damaged him," grunted Browning, who had again captured a couch.

"That was a corker!" broke forth Banny Robinson.

"A corker!" echoed Halliday. "I should guess yes! It dropped him in his tracks, and I saw the cops hammer him over the head with their clubs till they were tired without bringing him to his knees."

"I intended to lay him out when I struck him," said Jack, his eyes flashing. "I hit him on exactly the right spot."

"I'm sorry you did it, old man," said Creighton, soberly.

"I'm not!" returned Diamond, instantly.

"He is sure to make it hot for you."

"Let him try it! He was kicking Merry, and Merry was down. If I'd had an iron bar, I should have cracked him with it, after seeing him sink his toe into Frank's ribs."

Merriwell took a long step toward Jack and grasped his hand.

"Thank you, Diamond," he said, soberly and sincerely. "It is a true friend who stands by a man when he is down."

He glanced around at the others a moment after saying this, and the eyes of some of them failed to meet his. They remembered how, a short time before, Frank had been somewhat unpopular because of his refusal to play on the football team, and many of them had turned against him. They knew well enough that Merriwell had not forgotten it, and he thought of it when he spoke. Diamond was one of the few who had stood by him when he was most unpopular.

"The time has come," said Browning, slowly, "when this bully must be shown that he is not cock of the walk."

"Who'll show him?" cried several voices.

"Merriwell didn't hesitate about tackling him to-night—and got the best of him in a fair way. He struck a foul blow, and——"

"A terrible blow it was," confessed Frank, soberly. "I felt as if I had been kicked in the head by a mule."

"Oh, he'll kill a weak fellow with a fair blow of his fist!" exclaim Halliday.

"If we can't do anything else," said Browning, "we'll have to organize against him. If we were to do that, we could bring him to time after a while."

Danny Griswold lighted a cigarette, and perched himself on top of the table.

"If Merry will be our leader we may do something," he said.

"I am not in favor of the scheme," declared Frank.

All regarded him in surprise.

"You are not?" they cried.

"No."

"Why not?"

"It seems cowardly for several fellows to band together against one."

"But it's all the way he can be subdued. What can we do?"

"I am not certain it is the only way he can be subdued."

"Suggest another."

"I won't make any suggestions to-night, but I will think it over."

"We should organize for the protection of Diamond," suggested Creighton. "He is bound to find out Jack struck him the blow that knocked him out, and then——"

"Don't worry about me," broke in the Virginian. "I am not afraid of Hock Mason. He might kill me, but he'd never be able to make me squeal."

This was not boasting. Those who knew Jack Diamond best realized that he spoke nothing more than the simple truth. Brute force might conquer him physically, but his heart could not be conquered in such a manner.

Creighton was in earnest about forming some sort of a combination, offensive and defensive, against Mason, but Merriwell would not go into it, and the scheme failed to go into effect.

Some one suggested that Mason might be hurt more severely than they supposed, and Robinson went out to find out, if possible, about it. He finally returned, but brought no information.

"It would be a good thing if he couldn't get into bed for a day or two," said Halliday; "but you'll see him about as well as ever to-morrow."

Ben was right. Mason came forth to chapel in the morning, and, from his appearance, no one could have told that he had been knocked out in such manner the night before.

Straightway the giant freshman set about trying to discover just who it was that struck him, but those he questioned did not know, or lied by saying they did not know.

Mason grew more and more furious as time progressed and he failed to learn what he desired. He swore that he would find out before night, and the fellow should suffer.

At noon a crowd gathered at the fence and talked the matter over. Charlie Creighton was there, and again he was in favor of organizing against the freshmen.

While they were talking, Mason was seen approaching.

"Here he comes!" was the general exclamation.

"And he's out for blood!" declared Creighton. "His manner shows that. There is going to be trouble."

Before reaching the fence, Mason encountered Danny Griswold. Instantly he collared the little fellow.

"Griswold," he said, "I know that you know who struck me last night. If you don't tell, I'm going to give you the worst drubbing you ever received."

Danny shrank away, saying:

"I didn't see the fellow hit you."

"But you know who did it. You can't deny that. Who was it?"

"I can't tell."

Mason raised his heavy fist.

"Tell, or I'll break your pretty little nose!" he grated.

There was a step near at hand, and a calm voice said:

"Drop it, Mason! You should be ashamed to bully a man smaller than yourself. Don't dare to strike him!"

Hock looked around in astonishment.

Frank Merriwell was close at hand, coolly standing there, with his hands thrust into his pockets.

"Hey?" cried Mason, in surprise.

"You heard what I said, freshman," spoke Frank, as coolly as ever.

There was a stir at the fence, for the students there saw all and heard all.

"Jingoes! Merriwell has a nerve!" gasped one.

"Mason will thump him, sure!" said another.

"If he does——"

"Hark!"

"Yes, I heard what you said," flung back the bully; "but what you say chops no frost. If I want to thump this chap I'll thump him, and twenty fellows like you can't stop me."

"You overestimate your ability, freshman," said Frank, and his coolness was most exasperating. "If you thump that chap, one fellow will thump you."

"Jee whiz!" palpitated one of the students at the fence, "Now he's in for it!"

"There'll be gore spilled!" muttered Creighton.

"I'm sorry for Merriwell!" said another.

"Eh?" gurgled Hock Mason, more astonished than ever. "Is that a fact?"

"That is."

"Well, I'm going to thump him!"

Again he lifted his fist, and Danny Griswold cowered before it.

"Stop, Mason!" cried Frank, his voice hard and cold. "Strike him, and I'll give you a mark to remember me by!"

"Ho, ho!" sneered Mason, and he smashed Griswold in the face.

The moment the bully struck the little fellow, he released his collar and whirled toward Frank.

Merriwell kept his word.

Crack—Frank's fist struck fairly on Hock Mason's left eye, and the big bully was knocked down in a second.

The witnesses gasped with astonishment.

With a roar of rage, Mason leaped to his feet and came at Merriwell, somewhat blinded and dazed, but raging like a mad bull.

With the utmost ease Frank avoided the big fellow, and then he struck Mason again.

The second blow did not knock the giant down, but it stopped him a moment, and the blood began to run down his face.

Frank's fist had cut a long gash over the bully's right eye, and the blood quickly began to blind Hock, for already his left eye was swelling swiftly, showing it might be entirely closed in a few moments.

Mason wiped away the blood with his coat sleeve, and went at Frank with another rush.

Merriwell dodged, thrust out his foot, and tripped the freshman, sending him to the ground with a thud.

Over by the fence a little party witnessed all this with astonishment unspeakable.

Was this Mason, the freshman bully, who was being handled in such a manner by Merriwell? Was this the man who had knocked out four New Haven cops?

Mason had struck at Frank savagely enough to lay him out, but Merriwell easily dodged the blow.

Now the bully got upon his feet the second time. Blood was streaming down his face, and he was fast going blind. He looked around for Merriwell, but saw him dimly and indistinctly.

"Oh, hang you!" he cried. "You took me by surprise, and I can't see you now. If I could get hold of you——"

"But you can't do it, you know," said Frank, cheerfully, as he skipped out of the reach of his enemy's long arms.

Mason whirled around dizzily. He began to realize that it would be foolish to attempt to get the best of Merriwell then.

"Oh, I'll fix you for this—I will!" he grated.

"You think you will, but you won't," was the calm reply. "I shall be on the watch for you, and this is but a taste of what you'll get the next time you go up against me. Your days as a bully around here are over. I told you I would mark you, and I have. Whenever you look in a mirror for some time to come you will see something to remember me by."

"Whenever I look in a mirror for some time to come I shall remember you, and I'll repeat my vow to make you regret the day you ever saw me. Next time we meet to fight, I'll hammer you within an inch of your life!"

Then, holding a blood-stained handkerchief to his bleeding eye, he turned and hastened away.

TO THE RESCUE.

Danny Griswold danced and crowed with delight.

"Oh, scissors!" cried the little fellow. "I don't mind the crack he gave me a bit. It was worth it to see him get done up like that. And it was done so quick!"

The fellows at the fence rushed forward and gathered around Merriwell.

"Never touched you at all, did he?" asked Creighton.

"Didn't come within a hundred miles of me," smiled Frank.

Then they got him by the hand, shook it, congratulated him, complimented him, expressed their wonder, and some of them almost seemed to doubt if they had actually seen Hock Mason done up in less than two minutes.

"Quickest job on record," declared Silas Blossom. "Biff—biff—it was over. Didn't suppose he could be licked like that."

"He wasn't licked," said Frank. "It is a mistake to think that. I took particular pains to give him the first soaker in the left eye, and that eye was closing up on him so he couldn't see out of it very well. Then I let him have the next one on the right eye, and skinned my knuckles, see? Those knuckles cut him over the eye, and he bled as if he had been stabbed. The blood got into his eye, and he was more than half blind. That was what stopped him, and I hoped all the time that I might do it, for I will confess that I have no desire to receive one of his prize-fighter thumps. I was lucky to do the trick just as I planned it."

"And you had a nerve to stand up to him at all," said Deacon Dunning. "Especially here on the campus at this time of day, when it would mean something serious if the faculty knew of the fight."

"That was another thing I was thinking about," said Frank. "I wanted to end the scrap as soon as possible, so we'd not be seen at it by anybody who'd make trouble for us. Hope it won't kick up a muss and get us hauled over the irons."

They were astounded by Merriwell's coolness. He did not seem in the least ruffled by his encounter with the "bad man" of the freshman class, and was not particularly elated by his easy victory. He seemed to take it as a matter of course—a thing he had known would end just as it did.

It was not long before every freshman and junior knew what had happened, but all alike were slow to believe it possible. Frank Merriwell, single-handed, had got the best of Hock Mason—no, no, that could not be true!

The most of them wished to believe it, but could not at first. Mason was not popular among the freshmen, although he was their leader. He had bullied them too much, and he had many secret enemies, who pretended to his face that they were his friends.

The eyewitnesses of the encounter were forced to tell the story over and over till they were tired. Every one seemed to desire to know to the minutest particular just how Merriwell had gone to work to do the trick.

Some said it was pure accident, while others declared Hock Mason could not be knocked out by an accident. The latter were inclined to give Frank credit for all he had done, but the most of them prophesied that Mason would kill Merriwell as soon as his eyes were in condition to allow him to see properly.

Diamond had not seen the encounter, a fact which he bemoaned very much.

"Oh, Christopher!" he cried. "It was just my luck not to be around, and I'd given ten dollars to see it."

Frank told him how Danny had refused to divulge the knowledge Mason had desired.

"That shows little Gris has sand," said Jack. "But I'm sorry he didn't speak right up and tell Mason who it was. I don't want anybody to get thumped for keeping my secrets."

"It's all right. I don't think Mason slugged him hard. Anyway, he only made a sore place on Danny's cheek bone."

"I am going to take pains to let Mason know who it was thumped him with the cane. You're not going to fight him alone, Merry."

But that did not please Frank at all.

"You're going to do nothing of the sort, Diamond," he promptly declared. "The fight is on between Mason and Merriwell now, and you will keep out of it. I haven't made any talk about it, but it's my object to subdue this fellow, if possible, so there will be no further trouble with him."

"You may need help."

"I think not. It will be better for one man to do the job, as that will humiliate him, while he is such a bull-headed chump that he would never submit till he was killed if there was a party against him."

Diamond seemed to feel sorry that he could not get into it somehow. He even accused Frank of crowding him out. He had formed such a strong hatred for Mason that he felt as if it would be the greatest satisfaction of his life to do something to humble and crush the fellow.

But Frank knew Jack well enough to be sure it would not do for the hot-blooded Virginian to be deeply mixed in the affair, as he would not hesitate at anything in order to get the best of the freshman he hated.

Diamond's soul rose up in scorn and contempt for a brutal fellow like Mason. He actually felt that it would be a desirable thing to call Mason out and shoot him in a duel.

Merriwell's popularity rose to the flood when it was known that he had not hesitated to face the freshman bully in defense of Danny Griswold, and had got the best of the encounter. Every one congratulated Frank, and shook hands with him till he was tired of it all, and felt like keeping out of sight in his room.

But he knew it would not do to keep close in his room, for then it would be said that, although he had faced Mason once, he was afraid of the vengeance of the infuriated bully.

Frank went out more than had been his habit for some time. He had been devoting himself with unusual closeness to his studies, his main object being to stand so well in the spring that there would be no drawback about going onto the baseball team.

Mason kept close in his room, had a doctor, and made the excuse that he had inflammation of the eyes so he could not appear at recitations and found it impossible to study.

To those who knew all about it, the bully's excuse provided great amusement.

Three evenings after the encounter a jolly party gathered in Traeger's. Ale was freely consumed, stories told and jokes sprung.

Frank Merriwell was one of the party, and, as usual, he drank nothing but "soft stuff." Under no circumstances could he be induced to take a drink of liquor.

Frank's temperance principles were so well known that it was seldom any one urged him to drink anything. Occasionally they would jolly him, and he was often spoken of as the "Worthy Chief of the Good Templars." He did not mind this, however, and he often said that, as he never drank anything but raw alcohol of the rankest kind, and he couldn't get that at the places he patronized, he refused to take anything at all.

But he could be as jolly as any of the rest, and his stories and songs always "took." He was the life of any party, and, naturally, his society was much sought.

While the party was making merry in Traeger's, Dismal Jones wandered in. He paused and regarded them sadly, then said:

"Feasting, song and merriment within; cold, bitterness and misery without."

"Without what?" chirped Danny Griswold.

"Without yonder portal," solemnly returned Jones. "As I approached this gilded snare of Satan, I chanced to behold one who hath lately removed from one eye a beef-steak poultice, and whose other eye is in the neighborhood of several strips of plaster."

"Mason?" cried several.

"Verily thou hast named him," bowed Dismal. "He stood there shivering in the bitter cold, while about him gathered his wretched followers. It was a sad and heart-rending sight. I was touched—no, I mean I was afraid I would be touched, and I hastened hither to seek something that would drive from me memory that sad spectacle. Hot toddy, please."

"Mason?" exclaimed Diamond. "I wonder why the fellow is hanging around here?"

"Looking for Merry, perhaps," laughed Paul Pierson.

"He wants to look out, or he will get merry thunder," laughed Lewis Little.

"He got that the last time," said Andy Emery.

"Boys," said Danny Griswold, with sudden seriousness, "I believe there is something in the air."

"What?" asked several.

"Dust," chuckled Danny. "There's a high wind to-night."

"Hit him quick!" cried Halliday. "Hit him hard!"

"A-haw! a-haw! a-haw!" laughed Joe Gamp, a big, hulking fellow from New Hampshire. "Darned if that little runt ain't alwus doin' that. A-haw! a-haw! a-haw!"

Gamp had a laugh that was infectious. He seldom burst into a hearty roar that every one in hearing did not roar also. On this occasion Dismal Jones was the only man who did not join in the laughter. Dismal sipped his hot toddy, and looked sad and reproachful.

Mason was forgotten. Jokes and stories followed. Merriwell sang a song. The party showed no signs of breaking up, and Frank decided that he must get some sleep, so he reluctantly bade them good-night.

"I'm going along," said Rattleton, rising.

"Don't want us all to go to protect you from Mason and his gang, do you?" asked Puss Parker.

"I think not," smiled Frank. "I am not afraid of Mason himself, and I hardly think he'll call on any of his friends to help him lick me. Good-night, fellows."

"Good-night!"

"Good-night, Merry!"

"So long, old man!"

"Good luck, Frank!"

Any one hearing them bid him good-night would have known he was a very popular fellow. Every man there joined in the general chorus, and Frank went out laughing, his heart warm within his bosom.

"A jolly lot of fellows, Rattles," he said, "and white men, every one of them."

"Oh, they are jolly enough," admitted Harry; "but I hope you have not forgotten that almost every one of them turned his back on you when they fancied you were afraid of Rob Marline and did not dare play on the football team."

"It is best to forget such things as that," returned Frank. "It seemed to all of them that I showed the white feather, and, not knowing me as well as they might, they were disgusted. It also seemed that I was willing to let Yale go on the field with a weak team when it might be strengthened if I would play. Yale men are loyal to old Eli. They will forgive a personal affront quicker than anything that looks like cowardice or treachery toward Yale."

"Oh, well, if that's the way you look at it, I have nothing to say."

AGAINST ODDS.

Five minutes after Merriwell and Rattleton left Traeger's the latter came rushing back, hatless, excited and out of breath. He burst in upon the merry party, gasping:

"Quick? quick! They've got him!"

"Hey?" cried several, astounded. "Got who?"

"Merry!"

"Who's got him?"

"Gang with—masks—over—faces!" palpitated Rattleton.

"What's this?" shouted Paul Pierson. "The deuce you say!"

"It's right," declared Harry. "Mason's gang—know it was—Mason's gang!"

Every man was on his feet.

"To the rescue!" shouted Jack Diamond.

Out of Traeger's they poured. Rattleton led them. He took them to the dark street where the gang had suddenly jumped out and pounced upon Merriwell and himself.

"It was right here," he said. "Yes—here's my hat. I got a soaker in the jaw—knocked me stiff for a moment. They piled onto Merry. Had a cab waiting—bundled him into it. Before I could give him a hand, they were carrying him off in the cab."

"How many of them?" asked Pierson.

"I don't know—six or seven."

"Well, they have got away with him. They're gone. There is no cab in sight. What are we going to do?"

"Try to follow some way!" cried Diamond. "We must find them! We must stand by Merriwell! Oh, curse it! We might have known something was up when Jones told us he saw Mason outside."

"Sure!" agreed the others.

"I said there was something in the air," put in Griswold, but no one paid the slightest attention to him.

"We should have gone along with Merry," grated the excited Virginian. "Then, if the gang had tried to jump him—oh, we'd given them a hot time!"

"What do you suppose they'll do with him?" asked somebody.

"Do?" palpitated Rattleton. "The infernal skunks will do something dirty! Mason is playing to get square. He has sworn to hammer the life out of Merry, and he'll try to keep his word."

"It's a dirty trick!" fluttered Diamond. "If Merry is harmed, we should stand together and tar and feather Mason."

"We will!"

Every man there uttered the shout, and they were in earnest.

For some moments they lingered near the spot, and then they started along the street in the direction Rattleton said the cab had taken. They found a policeman after a time, and he had seen a closed cab go past in a hurry. He told them the direction it had taken.

They tried to trace the kidnaped junior, but the attempt was a failure. At last they gave it up. Vowing vengeance on all freshmen in general and Hock Mason in particular, they went back to Traeger's.

The story spread. It was not long before every junior abroad that evening knew what had happened. Fierce were the threats made against the freshmen.

The hour grew late, and some of the fellows decided to go to Merriwell's room and wait for him. They anticipated that he would be released after Mason had obtained his revenge.

To their astonishment, Merriwell's door was not locked. They opened it and walked in.

Merriwell was there!

"Come in, fellows!" called Frank, cheerfully.

He was examining some of his clothes. They were the clothes he had worn that evening, and a glance showed they were torn and ruined.

"Just looking over this suit, to see how much it was damaged," Merriwell laughed. "It strikes me it is knocked out. Won't ever be able to wear it again."

Then he saw them standing and staring at him in astonishment, and he asked:

"What's the matter?"

"Rattleton must have been stringing us!" exclaimed Puss Parker.

"Lot on your nife—I mean not on your life!" spluttered Harry. "I gave it to you straight."

"But Merriwell is here—all right."

"How long have you been here, Merry?" asked Browning.

"Came in about ten minutes ago," answered Frank. "Just had time to change my clothes before you chaps drifted in."

"Then they did carry you off?"

"Rather."

"But you're all right?"

"Never was better."

"Mason didn't get revenge on you?"

"Not this evening."

"Tell us about it!" cried Browning and Halliday, together.

"Yes, tell us," urged Parker. "You've been in some kind of a scrimmage. That's evident by the appearance of the clothes you have taken off. Tell us what happened."

"I suppose Rattles has told you how they jumped us?"

"Yes."

"Well, they had me before I could do a thing. I rather think Mason got his hands on me. Anyhow, it was some big fellow with the strength of Samson. Before I could strike for myself I was bundled into a cab, and two or three of them were in there with me. They told me to keep still. My hands were twisted behind my back and tied. Then they carried me off."

"Didn't I give it to you straight?" cried Harry.

"Where did they carry you?" asked Halliday, eagerly.

"Somewhere out of town. They didn't talk much—didn't want me to recognize their voices, I suppose. I kept still, as they told me, but I was trying to work my hands free all the time. I found I could do it, but I waited till they stopped and bundled me out of the cab. Then——"

"Then?" cried the listening boys, eagerly.

"Then I slipped my hands out of the ropes and sailed into them."

"Wish I'd been there," grunted Browning, with unusual animation.

"Go on, Frank—go on!" cried the others.

"It was a right tight little scrap," laughed Merriwell; "but they were taken by surprise, and that gave me a show. One or two of them got hold of me. They tore my clothes. Once they got me down, but I managed to get away and got onto my feet. I told them I was going to mark the whole crowd so I would know them in the morning, and I think I did it for the most of them. It was dark, or I should have known them, for I ripped the masks off nearly all of the gang. Every time I could, I slugged a fellow in the eye, and some of them will have their peepers decorated to-morrow."

Rattleton fell to laughing.

"Oh, gee!" he cried. "They were monkeying with a cyclone! They'll remember you, Merry!"

"I intended that they should. At last, seeing I could not lick the gang, and they were bound to get the best of me in the end, if I persisted in trying to do so, I took to my heels and ran for it. One fellow gave me a red-hot chase. He was a sprinter, fellows. I found I had drawn him on ahead of the others, and I slacked till he was close at my heels. He thought he was overtaking me. All at once I stopped short and turned on him. He couldn't stop or dodge, and he ran against my fist. Well, I am dead sure he'll bear my mark to-morrow."

Merriwell was congratulated. Alone and single-handed he had bested his enemies, a feat that was sure to add to his record.

THE END.

By BURT L. STANDISH

"BEST OF ALL BOYS' BOOKS"

No modern series of tales for boys and youths has met with anything like the cordial reception and popularity accorded to the Frank Merriwell Stories.

There must be a reason for this and there is. Frank Merriwell, as portrayed by the author, is a jolly, whole-souled, honest, courageous American lad, who appeals to the hearts of the boys. He has no bad habits, and his manliness inculcates the idea that it is not necessary for a boy to indulge in petty vices to be a hero. Frank Merriwell's example is a shining light for every ambitious lad to follow.

Twenty-four volumes ready